Marauders: The Doorstep
by JadeyTheKitty
Summary: When you're trapped in the one place you despise the most, where do your memories take you? One-shot.


**The Doorstep**

* * *

Light streamed into the room, brightening everything it touched. Sixteen-year-old Sirius Black smirked wryly; it was a stark contrast to his room back home. With the musty closets, dark drapes, and general distasteful decor of serpents and beheaded house elves. Yeah, home was great...

He blinked, and then ran a hand through his black hair. What was he doing thinking of home? James's house was his summer escape; he usually purposefully forgot that his family existed when he came over here or when he was at school. Of course it had been hard to forget Bellatrix and Narcissa in his earlier years at Hogwarts, what with their breathing down his neck and writing his mother whenever they could make a bad situation worse.

Thinking about home wasn't something he wanted to do. Sirius wouldn't be able to keep his devil-may-care attitude if he thought of home. But it didn't change the fact that it was bloody hard to forget. His mother had been a right pain this last summer, she hadn't cared a bit that he had passed all of his O.W.L.s with top-marks, his only real rivals having been James and Remus. She just went on and on about 'besmirching the Black family name'. What kind of word was 'besmirching' anyway?

And what in the name of Merlin was he doing?! Sirius Black. Did. Not. Angst. It was just something he wouldn't do. Remus did the angst bit, not him. And Sirius certainly did not angst while he was here at James's house – and where was James, how long could it take to find something to use as a Quaffle?

Sirius tilted the kitchen chair back until it balanced on two legs, frowning angrily at the Potter's kitchen sink where a plate was busily scrubbing itself clean. Everything was nice and tidy from the oak cabinets down to the scrubbed linoleum. Even when Kreacher was at the top of his game, the Black house was always darker somehow, never cheerful like here.

He let the chair fall back to the kitchen floor with a resounding bang. If he sat there any longer, he was going to drive himself mad with all of this brooding.

James Potter chose that moment to arrive with what appeared to be a deformed red soccer ball. He took one look at Sirius's expression and raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, you just took too long to get the Quaffle." Sirius attempted to smirk – smile – _anything_, but the smile collapsed and he found himself in just as bad a mood as he had been in all week. Today just wasn't his day.

James gave Sirius a skeptical glance before shrugging and heading for the door leading from the kitchen to the back yard. "Whatever you say, Padfoot."

Sirius let out a sigh and shoved himself out of the chair, following James out the door and towards the shed where James stored his broom. He paused briefly to grab his own broom (Which was leaning against the side of the house.) before jogging after James.

Within five minutes they were in the air, idly tossing the Quaffle back and forth like Muggle boys might toss a baseball.

"So, are you going to tell me?" James asked, steering his broom slightly to the left to catch one of Sirius's wilder throws.

"Tell you how Lily is sure to fall for your charm this year, unlike last year when she dumped yet another jug of pumpkin juice over your head, Prongs?"

How to avoid a conversation you don't want to have with James Potter: Start talking about Lily, he can go on for hours on end just trying to guess the exact color of her eyes. Emerald green, sea green? Bleh, it was enough to make you physically ill.

"No, that's not it. You were thinking about something in the kitchen."

Sirius frowned, catching the return throw of the Quaffle and tossing it from one hand to the other for a moment. "And what makes you think that?"

James smiled slightly. "Because you never live up to your name unless you're thinking of something important. Now are you going to pass the Quaffle or are you going to keep it as a pet?"

"If you must know," Sirius said, tossing the Quaffle back to James. "I was pondering what to name my new pet Quaffle."

James arched one eyebrow.

"Okay, if you must know, I plan to run away from home."

The other eyebrow went up. "How come?"

Sirius gave James a patronizing look. "Prongs, do I even have to tell you again what my family is like? I ask you this, have you ever even been inside my house?"

James shook his head.

"Right, well, there's a reason for that."

They tossed the Quaffle back and forth for a few minutes in silence as James mulled this over.

"My parents would probably put you up, they like you…" James said finally. "But they won't let you stay forever, are you sure you want to do something like this?"

"James." Sirius began frankly. "My Mum is a witch, in the worst sense of the term. If I never hear Kreacher mutter about me under his breath again it'll be too soon."

"Why don't we ask my Mum and Dad? See what-" James paused to flip his broom over, hanging upside down to catch the Quaffle. They were making it more difficult for the other to catch. "See what they think. Maybe they could talk to your Mum?"

"We can tell them after I've safely run away from that place." Sirius caught the Quaffle again one last time, throwing it back a bit harder than absolutely necessary.

-

Sirius quietly pulled the door shut on Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

He would be extremely pleased to never 'besmirch' the doorstep of this place again. And if he never again set foot inside those walls he'd be quite a happy camper.

After they found out he was gone for good they'd probably burn his name off of the family tree, but Sirius could care less. Andromeda'd had her name blown off and she was no worse for the wear.

Sirius smiled wryly, more like grimaced really, and adjusted the pack and broom he'd thrown over his shoulder. He mock-saluted the house one last time and turned to walk away from it forever. Or so he hoped.

He hadn't told James every reason why he had needed to run away. Sirius couldn't stand his mother going on and on about the Dark Lord having the 'right idea' about dealing with Muggles, 'Mudbloods', and 'Blood Traitors' while his younger brother drank in every poisonous word. Sirius smirked again with no humor; he probably fit in nicely with that last category now: 'Sirius the Blood Traitor'… wonderful.

Sirius stopped at the end of the walk, glancing furtively back and forth as he tied the pack of his belongings onto the back of his broom. The moment he got a chance he was going to use some of his savings to buy one of those Muggle motorcycles, maybe he would charm it to go faster or, better yet, charm it to fly.

He'd have to make sure the motorcycle wasn't too expensive, James's parents had offered to put him up, but he'd like to get his own place by next year. He couldn't cook to save his life though…

_"You're always welcome for Sunday lunch." _Mrs. Potter had told him kindly. Thank goodness for that.

An angry, bloodcurdling scream from the house informed Sirius that his escape had been found out. A room emptied of his school things and other personal possession sort of made it obvious what he was up to.

"I should have rigged up some sort of prank for her.... miserable old bat." Sirius shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching as he mounted the broom and kicked off into the air.

As the cool night air swirled past him another shriek rent the pre-dawn hour. His mother had apparently found Kreacher. Served the evil little house elf right to be super glued and Duct taped to the ceiling, trying to spy on him while he was packing…

Sirius let out a bark like laugh as he imagined the look on his mother's face. Let his mother do her worst, she no longer had even the slightest control over his life. He was going to live how he wanted, no more listening to lies about the Dark Lord having _any_ good ideas.

-

Sirius tilted his chair back onto the back legs and stared at the high ceiling. Another Order meeting was over. Snape, of course, had thrown in his usual snide comments. Sitting around here while he risked his life, he'd implied… did the greasy git think he _wanted _to be here? Far from it…

If only James were here, he would've come up with the perfect comments to mutter while Snape was talking. Living here again might just have been bearable if James Potter were still alive…

He sighed; at least Harry would be coming here soon…

Sirius let the chair fall back to the floor, giving the pots hanging on the wall a particularly dirty look. Even when Kreacher had actually cleaned, this place hadn't been nice to look at, but now… it was practically decomposing.

He leaned forward, resting his face in his hands. What he wouldn't give to be at James's house right now.

Merlin, he hated this place.

* * *

- Jade-chan

_Jade's Note:_

Sirius lives, he'll come back before the seventh book ends! I can hope, ne?

Anyway, a nice bit of Sirius angst. I'll probably write a few more one-shots like this, depending on how my muse feels.

Edit:

Un-beta-d-ness bad... A big thank you to Ari for pointing out my 'here'-'hear' mistake. __


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